Guardian Angel
by Lotte Rose 37
Summary: Six months, seven days, and nineteen hours I had counted since that night which changed the course of my life forever... Foplovers beware...
1. Chapter 1: of Pressure and Pearls

_A/N: Hello! I'm Lotte Rose 37 and this is my first fan fiction. When I saw the Phantom of the Opera movie, I absolutely fell in love with everything about it! I liked the ending, but secretly wished she would have ended up with the sexy (Gerard Butler) Phantom. So this is me, venting my stress about the whole deal. I loved the characters in the movie, so you can picture them while reading (if you're visual like me and have to picture the scenes taking place in a story to fully comprehend it). Like I said, I am totally for Erik/Christine pairing, but my story does not contain too much fluff (sort of--I'll try). My goal is to tie this into the already existing ending, but we shall see...PLEASE review! Even if it's tiny! I need feedback! I HEART REVIEWERS! Anyway...shutting up...hope you enjoy!_

_Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera, or Gerard Butler for that matter...pity._

_**Guardian Angel**_

_Chapter One_

Six months, seven days, and nineteen hours I had counted since that night which changed the course of my life forever. The night that would eternally haunt my mind in its significance and its pain. A pain which shook me to the deepest depths of my core, and often kidnapped me from reality. I was having one of these daydreams now; visions of red velvet and stone walls, mocking my conscience. But all too quickly, my haze cleared and the red and gold faded to ivory and mauve, and a loving hand was placed on my shoulder. "Christine, time for you to meet my Aunt Chantal and Uncle Yanik." _Oh, lovely…_

I stood from my place at our table and allowed Raoul to lead me to yet another acquaintance. Ignoring the pain in my thighs and abdomen, I floated across the marble of the ballroom. I had been dragged to so many of these banquets in the past several months and all so closely spaced, one can only take a certain amount of time in the confining fashions before welts start to appear.

Life with Raoul, I have to say, was very pleasant; leisure time by the hours, with servants in every corner; an orphaned ballet girl's dream. But the past 6 months had also allowed me to have a glimpse of my future; the way I would be spending the rest of my life. Of course, living in a chateau and being engaged to its handsome owner, one would assume a life of happiness. But in the hours I spent by his side, Raoul had proved himself to be…well… innocently dull, to put it simply. Something I had apparently been blind to in childhood. He was very sweet, and charming, and dashing, yet he lacked character. I often curse myself for my petty, selfish observations, pointing out flaws in a perfect man, but I just can't help wondering if…_no, you did the right thing, that's why you're here, enjoying the company of Raoul's many relatives getting a look at their future in-law_.

That's another thing I cursed myself for questioning. Raoul had it in his agenda, that before we were to be wed, he had business and family matters to attend to. In other words, receiving approval from his family to add an heir into his will, and entrust his fortune to a title-less bride. But I felt no pressure to impress as I neared the awaiting couple, as I had become numb to it after the first 40 meetings.

The man and woman eyed their future niece-in-law up and down several times before extending their greetings. The woman reminded me of a pear as she acknowledged me with a nod and half-smile. Her dress was a dull shade of sage, and gemstones heavily adorned her narrow, drooping shoulders. Her husband, the ripened swash, swooped down dramatically, and kissed my hand, lingering over my skin with his rather ridiculous mustache. God forgive me for my sins of judgment, if comparing my finance's relatives to autumn fruits can be deemed as one. But I couldn't help myself. I honestly could not find the origin of my fiancé's good looks in any of his family.

"Miss Daae" swooned the squash, "tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Yes my dear, our nephew has spoken highly of you." Pear replied, "Though it seems he is not the only one. I hear you are quite the talk of the city." Her voice was skeptical and snub, and I felt color rising to my cheeks. Roaul obviously caught on to my discomfort and hastily searched for words to excuse.

"Oh, yes, well we have had quite a year, and I'm sure Christine has enjoyed meeting you, but we really must beg your pardon, there are many more acquaintances to be made before the night is through. We will be sure to send you the wedding invitation." _If I can count on Raoul for one thing it would be his ability to get me out of awkward situations_, I thought as he escorted me to the other side of the banquet hall. The newspapers had left out no detail in their description of that night, and it pained me to think that everyone one in Paris had read and knew all about my involvement with the Opera Populaire scandal. I had noticed Raoul was about to say something but was interrupted when two giggling girls hesitantly addressed him.

"Excuse us, but are you not the Viscount de Changy?"

Raoul's expression swelled with pride as he acknowledged his admiring fans. "Ooo! We heard all about your _heroic_ act in rescuing Miss Daae from the Opera Ghost himself! We just had to meet you! Would you mind retelling your _brave_ tale?"

"Thank you both very much but I'm quite busy at the moment—"

"Oh but we just have to hear it from the rescuer himself! I'm sure you tell it much better than the papers!" By this time word had spread that the Viscount was going to tell the story of his heroic rescue and crowd had encircled us both. This was not the first time. I had begged him on many occasions to spare me, but Raoul still could not resist the temptation to woo admiring young girls and bask in the adoration of his curious audience. I somehow managed to escape unnoticed out of the gathering, and sat down at an empty table. However, my ears were still not spared their torment. I sat, reliving each moment as he braved them with his first-hand experience.

I attempted to distract myself, and ended up staring down at my hand and twisting the ring around my finger. Raoul had, of course, taken me to purchase a new engagement ring about two weeks following the night I had given up my old one. The jeweler had insisted on the one my finger now bore, convincing us it was the latest in style and was a mark of importance in society. Seeing how I was going to be an importance in society it seemed suitable, and met Raoul's demand for it to look nothing like the original. But now as I gazed upon the glossy, cream colored pearl encircled in miniature diamonds, I realized how ironic it really was.

A pearl is an accident, an irritation in its creator; the oyster's sensitive membrane. The pearl is created by layers and layers of covering up the annoyance, until a tolerance is formed, but it still remains a mere obstacle for the oyster to overcome. However, my first ring had bore a diamond; a large, sparkling treasure, formed in intense heat and meant to last an eternity. That ring now belonged to someone else…someone who would stay locked in my conscience for eternity. Now upon my finger lay nature's mistake masquerading as a symbol of love, encircled by chips of the magnificence it will never be, taunting it, and mocking its existence.

Raoul was nearing the grand finale of his narrative, and no distraction could barricade the memories from subjugating my thoughts. "So, with the Phantom defeated by his own guilt, we boarded the gondola, and I rowed the sweet Miss Daae out of the hellish dungeon and away from its satanic occupant." The applause of the admiring crowd faded to the rippling of water trailing the gondola's stern. This was the chapter of my visions I could never seem to banish. The canal bending into a sharp turn, and I, glancing behind once again at the sight on the shore…

"Was he really that ugly!"

"Like the devil himself. His entire right side was marred beyond humanity; a grotesque, repulsive beast that should never be seen by any soul."

…he was no longer the raving, desperate phantom he had been just minutes before. He was a man, broken and alone, the look of utter despair flooding his eyes. A fallen angel…

The dramatic finale was delivered and the audience divided into clusters, further discussing the subject. The familiar feeling of curious eyes once again penetrated my nerves and the murmur of gossip flushed the rims of my ears.

The night progressed and the conversation dissipated, but my fog had failed to clear. I was admiringly spoken to several times but I casually brushed them off and continued my gaze into the deep abyss of my conscience. If I was coming off rude, I didn't notice, nor did I care as my numbness to propriety increased along with my fatigue. My eyes threatened to close and I gave a weary look to Raoul, but it wasn't until another two hours, and dragging ourselves away from conversation, that he and I were finally able to escape to the awaiting carriage.

The last street lamps were being extinguished and the clopping echoes of our vehicle seemed the single sound along the sleeping street. The lack of conversation was peaceful and I focused my gaze out window. The cobble stones glistened from the afternoon shower and moonlight caressed every shape. Like a child in its mother's embrace, the steady bounce of the carriage finally willed my eyes to close, and I surrendered to the darkness.


	2. Chapter 2: Greet the Day

_A/N: Hello again! Welcome to Chapter Two! Ok, yes, I know I am very mellow-dramatic and I'm proud of it. And no, I'm not proud of the fact that I misspelled "Guardian" in chapter one. I admit it, I'm a terrible speller. I may as well make a big ole' "I CAN'T SPELL FOR CRAP" sign and pin it to my forehead! But, fear not, I fixed it. Like I said in chapter one, I'm desperate to know what you think and treasure reviews! Shutting up…_

_Disclaimer: I own Phantom of the Opera, Andrew Lloyd Webber is my brother in-law, I just went shopping with Emmy Rossum, I regularly kick Pat Wilson's butt in boxing, and Gerard Butler lives in my closet! she snores and drools on her pillow_

**Guardian Angel**

Chapter 2

A glow behind my eyelids awakened me to my all-too-familiar surroundings. Sunlight poured past gossamer drapes from the windows and flooded my room in the de Changy chateau. I glanced about, trying to recall how I had come to be there when my question was answered.

"He carried ye in last night ee' did. Said you looked so peaceful in slumber ee' di'ent want to wake ye. Quite nice of im' I thought." The cheery Madame O'Kinly's Irish accent tickled the air as she trotted across the room towards the fireplace. "In fact, ee' sent me up ere' just now, insisten' that I dolly up a fire for ye, with the October chillin' about and all. Sure is a gentleman isn't ee'?

"Never fails." I sat up from the satin pillows to rub the sleep from my eyes. _Quite gentleman indeed, _I thought as I surveyed the "dollying" of my fire taking place. Mme. O'Kinly's pompous figure giggled about, hastily obeying her master's orders. Twas true, the air outside had taken on its low temperature for the first time this month, but it was not detectable in my room, for it was warmed by the five, 12-foot windows that lined the east wall. However, Raoul made sure his fiancée did not sense one degree of a chill and insisted uponmy maid to make use of the fireplace.

"That should do it" Mme. O'Kinly brushed off her hands over the hearth and wiped the excess soot on her apron. "Tis' a bit late in the mornin' so I'll be back to help ye dress. Sure tis' a mighty fine day to see the Countess."

_Damn!…_ I had forgotten what day it was. For our wedding, it was insisted that I wore my mother-in law's dress. I was told the dress was a family heirloom that had been passed down through generations of daughters, and since Raoul was one of two boys and the only one engaged, I had no choice but to be the daughter who'd sport the antique down the isle. But that was the least of my concerns.

Today was also the day I would meet my future mother-in-law; the Countess, Antoinette de Changy. I had met her briefly as a child, but that was before the death of her dearest Count, Xavier de Changy. I knew nothing of her now, except that she was an independent woman; independent enough to dwell in her own private mansion on the other side of Paris.

It seemed odd to me that in all the banquets I had attended in the last 6 months, she had not bothered to be seen at any, but I soon dropped the subject and concentrated more on what I was going to say, unaccompanied by Raoul, to his mother. Raoul had "more important business to attend to". More important business to attend to than presenting his fiancée to his mother for the first time. I would have to present myself.

Just as my palms began to sweat, Mme. O'Kinly bustled back in, presenting me with my attire.

The strings of the corset snapped and expelled the last breath of slumber from my lungs. The seams of the fabric stung, nestling into the dents left from their previous contact with my skin.

I emerged from my quarters an hour later, fastened, buttoned, buckled, draped, combed, laced, and luxurious, as a proper woman should be when going out in public; pained and perfect. The henchman sat perched over his reins and the door ajar, but I wasn't ready just yet.

The study's mahogany door made no sound as I hesitantly entered. The study was Raoul's, and Raoul's alone. Every de Changy male before him had tended to important business in this room, and it was Raoul's turn to carry on the tradition. From the moment you step inside, the room reeks of masculinity. The atmosphere is dense with the smell of leather and old books, along with a hint of cologne, if the room is occupied. This time, the cologne scent was present, and I quietly approached the desk where Raoul was brooding over his important business. He obviously wasn't aware of my presence,so I made it known by forcing a sniffle. Raoul's head immediately snapped up and his churning eyes softened to a loving welcome. "Ah, there you are! You look beautiful. Mother will be absolutely stunned. I had the carriage all arranged, it is waiting for you outside." He returned to the work upon his desk, and I was once again staring uncertainly at the top of his head.

"Raoul?"

"Hmm?"

"Well…are you…certain you can not accompany me?" I felt the word 'nag' being whispered in my ear.

"Crumpet, I already told you. I wish I could, but I have obligations that demand my attention." He set down his pen and came out from behind the desk. "Besides…I want the vision of your beauty to be a surprise when you walk down the isle. If I come, it will be spoiled."

"Alright." I felt like a child being comforted by her father after being denied some sweet morsel.

"That's my Little Lotte. I shall see you tonight at supper." He released my shoulders and once again returned to immerse himself in his work. I exited, the feeling pettiness and degrading creating tension in my conscience. _Is this the kind of wife I am to become?_

I slid back in my seat as the wheels jerked into motion and the grand corridors of the chateau faded into the distance.

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_I know, I know, not a lot happened in this chapter, but hey, the plot has to be set and I'm already working on Chapter 3._


	3. Chapter 3: Mother Dearest

_A/N: I would like to take this time to thank my first ever reviewers: Arwen1604, Art-Keeper, phasmatis lupus, Freedom's Heart, Operatic, and Harry's Girl 01031992. You guys mean a lot—thanks! I just want to give an FYI to all you out there who are wondering where Erik is. Fear not. He will make his appearance in the next few chapters. Just bear with me till then. I promise to make it worth your while. I really don't know why I have such an obsession with dysfunctional families. It's probably because I have one. I enjoy writing about weird relatives because I have them…then again, who doesn't. Oh…every family tree has its nuts and squirrels. Anyway, back on topic and on with the chapter…_

_Disclaimer: "YES! I OWN PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!" a note drops at her feet: Dearest Lotte Rose 37, I regret to inform you that you do not, in fact, own this copyrighted piece of literature and I warn you that if you dare to claim otherwise, I will have no choice but to employ my Punjab lasso. Your obedient servant, O.G. "Uhh…never mind."_

**Chapter 3**

The clopping of damp earth beneath hooves became almost mesmerizing as the roadside trees blurred past my view. I had taken to counting them a while back but lost interest as the constant focusing pained the backs of my eyes. Now it was just miles and miles of endless green. Mme. O' Kinly had taken on an unusual silence as her and her needlepoint conversed, which I was quite relieved for. Usually, I would take joy in her company on long drives such as this, but my mind had more important things to recon with.

Raoul de Changy's residence was located upon a grand suburban stretch of land; a decent 35 miles outside of the capital. It hadn't occurred to me the places we'd have to pass through in order to get to our destination of the dearest Countess's mansion. It would only be another hour or so before we reached the town I dreaded most; the city in which all my memories and pasts were held captive…

I wasn't quite certain when it had happened but soon the dull thud of dirt roads became the sharp clops of cobblestone streets. The myriad of trees dissipated and were soon replaced by clustered buildings. The evergreen scent turned sour and thick and the buzz of people infested the surrounding air. Our carriage's hoof beats tangled among many others and it was then that Mme. O' Kinly looked up from her work. "Oh, I do believe we are in Paris!"

I didn't respond. I knew very well where we were. The carriage had taken a turn and we were now heading down streets I knew all too well.

"Glory, I haven't been through Paris in ages! Such a beautiful city! When I was a wee one, me father used to rave about how, one day, we'd move to Paris. Of course we never did, but ee' did take me ere' a few times. Sure does seem to hold memories doesn't it?"

"Yes, it does" _You have no idea._

We continued through the heart of Paris, every shop and alley rousing untold secrets. Our coach slowed and halted to make way for the adjoining traffic and my eyes lay hold of something that caused my heart to halt as well. A single piece of parchment tacked to a street lamp, its corners dancing in the breeze. 'WANTED: Opera Ghost. Last seen April 7, 1871 at the Opera Populaire during opening night of _Don Juan Triumphant._ Tall male, black hair, right side facial deformity. Wanted dead or alive with a reward of 50,000 francs to any persons who can aid in his capture. Wanted for: Kidnapping and MURDER.

_Kidnapping and murder…_I tore my eyes away. I couldn't bear to look at it any longer. However, the tormenting of my vision was not over. The sight of the charred Opera lay straight ahead. Boarded up and forgotten, it seemed to radiate in mystery. The comfort I once felt in my home's grand structure and ominous scale was now foreign. Only pain remained. But once again, the traffic resumed and with a jolt, and we were off.

Thirty-five anxious minutes later, the coach was trotting down a lively, sun dappled road. A procession of equally spaced trees saluted on either side, proud and uniform, leading up to the building that was now coming into view.

The stone-covered mansion loomed over its grand gardens and the gate made no sound as Mme. O'Kinly drew it back. The brass knocker sounded and a woman about my age answered.

"Welcome Ms. Daae. The Countess has been expecting you. If you will follow me, she will be down to great you shortly." The maid was about to lead us to the parlor, when an aged voice stopped us from the top of the stairs.

"Have they arrived, Colette?"

"Oui Mistress, I was just showing them to the parlor."

"That is not necessary. You may excuse us now Colette, and fix us some tea."

"Oui Madame."

Colette obediently disappeared behind a door. I looked back at the stairs. The Countess was making her entrance. She was not that old, I decided after observing the slight creases on her face. Her hair was not grey, but the blonde was faded and did not possess the luster of that of a younger woman. It was her manner, I conclude, which gave her the elderly authority. Her nose protruded high in the air as a smart smile danced upon her mouth and tugged an eyebrow. Mme. O'Kinly curtsied respectfully as her foot graced the floor before us. The Countess eyed me up and down maintaining her height over me despite our equality in size.

"Ms. Daae, I presume?"

"Bonjour, Countess. It's so nice to finally make your acquaintance."

"I suppose I am to ask you to refer to me as Mother, since you will be my _daughter in law_." Her last words were laced in venom, which she spat viciously as she arched her neck and flicked her forked tongue.

"Oh, well, _Mother_….its wonderful—"

"And where, may I ask is my son? Did he not accompany you on your journey?"

"Oh, no, he was busy."

"Pity."

"And," I added in his defense, "he didn't want to see the dress before the wedding."

"The dress, yes."

We followed her into the parlor. Mme. O'Kinly caught my eye and offered an uneasy expression. The Countess was obviously not the friendliest of people. It was beyond me how someone so cold could rear such a kind man as Raoul.

She looked at me like a stain on an otherwise perfect dress: every thread and seam before it crisp and perfect, but then there was me, a splash of mud which needed to be washed out, quickly, before it set in.

The Countess's dress, however, was perfect, every hook and eye was tightly fastened, and every inch of lace held a slight yellow, but lacked frays. At first glance, you would never know that it had been worn by so many generations of brides. Now it had come to me, Christine Daae. Just Christine Daae. Neither heiress, nor princess, a simple Opera performer, who happened to be loved by a Viscount.

I stepped in front of the mirror. I couldn't breathe, not a result of my corset, but of the disappointment that stood before me. The dress was shapeless; the excess fabric buckled at my shoulders, and the waist, formed a straight, unflattering line from bust to hip, the bodice cutting off above my navel. It didn't suit me. I didn't suit it.

"Well," Mme. O'Kinly piped up breaking the lingering silence. "Of course, we could just take it in for ye a wee bit, and it'll look like it was made for you."

"It wasn't made for her." The smug remark stirred upon the back of my neck as the Countess arched an eyebrow at the reflection. Her mouth curved in a sneering purse.

"Yes, well of course ee 'twasn't, but I don't think a few stitches will do any harm—"

"No needle is touching that gown! It has been in the Changy line for more than seven generations! Every Changy bride has worn it without alterations and Ms. Daae is no exception." Her words heated my cheeks and stung my nerves. I was about to voice my opinion but she was suddenly at my back, pulling the laces to their fullest potential trying to assure that it would somehow fit. She managed to tighten it so that it stayed on my shoulders, but the stubborn design refused to mold to my shape.

"You see, it fits. Now, Ms. Daae, you may go change before it develops a wrinkle."

We wasted no time in our farewell. It consisted of a few exchanges of gratitude for her hospitality, returned by a forced smile fabricated to express her joy of meeting the fiancée her son spoke so highly of. It was over within minutes and once again, we were in the carriage driving away from the dearest Antoinette de Changy's mansion.

I looked down at the ring I was twisting anxiously around my finger and found no comfort in its glossy luster. It hadn't exactly been what I was expecting, trying on my wedding dress for the first time. _Trying on my wedding dress for the first time…_my mind drifted back to another wedding dress; a beautiful silken gown which molded perfectly to my every curve and billowed gracefully to my feet. Almost like it was…made for me.

The sound of shouting shook me from the daze and I realized we were back in the center of town. Mme. O'Kinly's curiosity was peaked. We had come to a complete stop and she was craning her neck to see was commotion had caused the backup ahead. The commotion grew louder and we abandoned our vehicle to investigate.

"What in heaven is go'in on?"

"I don't know." Those were our parting words as I roughly pushed my way through the human maze. The gathering crowd grew thicker, but my destination grew clearer. I made the treacherous climb from the swallowing mass. The center of the mob was mayhem. Arms flailing, women cowering, and all wrapped in foul tongue, but as I broke through to the heart, the sudden ale of reality sunk into my conscience.

My heart ceased to maintain its gallop in my chest. A terrible heat stung at my nerves and drained my cheeks of their pigment. The very sight before me turned my being numb.


	4. Chapter 4: Diamond in the Rough

_A/N: Mooahahaha! I left you all on a cliff hanger! evil cackle Oh well, you probably won't read this because you want to know what happens, so I'll let you go... sorry for the bagillion-year break, crazy schedule! And sorry this is so short! I promise the next one will be longer! Oh well! So long, farewell, wait, this isn't Sound of Music!_

_Disclaimer: Roses are red, that's nothing new, I don't own Phantom of the Opera, how about you?_

Chapter 4: Diamond in the Rough

_The very sight before me turned my being numb._

A shivering mass of torn, blood stained fabric cowered from the mob a mere five feet from where I was standing.

"We've got him! Alert the authorities!"

"The Opera Ghost! He's here! The murderer himself, we've got him!"

A man with a cane reached down and snatched something from the form.

It flew high into the air, and clattered at my feet. I only got a glimpse of white before another man drew it up before the crowd. The terrible cheer echoed throughout the streets. A loud crack brought my attention back to the heart of the mob. The blows against the mauled flesh sung an awful, slicing sound and pricked my nerves. The cane sounded its cry once more, and the spots of burgundy became pools upon the tattered white shirt.

"Show yourself, Phantom!"

He stretched down his hand and wrenched up upon the tangle of hair. The facing crowd gasped and screamed. The arms that fought desperately to conceal himself were yanked behind his back, causing blood to ooze where the skin stretched. The crowd-pleaser once again hauled and rotated the spectacle for the audience's viewing.

My Angel, my mentor, my Guardian…was exposed and defenseless right before my eyes. He had changed since last I saw him. His skin clung tighter to his bones and his eyes… the stormy orbs which had once churned with every emotion now seemed glazed over with a tragic calm. His downcast pupils raised and, to my utter regret, were drawn to my figure in the crowd. His eyes widened and his mouth opened slightly, unspoken shock radiating through to my core.

"What you looking at, Devil!"

Eyes landed on me from all directions. The man with the cane let out a hyena-like laugh. "Well, it looks like our beast has beheld a beauty!"

Another blow met his back, but he recovered, returning his gaze back to my person. His sight lingered on my left hand finger, and a bead of sweat dropped from his clenched jaw.

The blows continued, but his penetrating stare never wavered, his vibe, searing an unnamed emotion that boiled and churned beneath my breast.

It seemed like hours before two policemen dragged him from the mob's grasp forcing the lock our exchange had welded, to break. I just stood there as he was forced into the cart, wads of saliva landing on his thrashed back. The crowd pushed past me and proceeded to trail the vehicle, leaving me standing alone in the square, the car, disappearing around the corner.

Harsh wind tugged at my clothing and brought a piece of paper fluttering to my feet. _Kidnapping and murder…_

"Oh, thank heavens! I thought the crowd was going to swallow us both!" Mme. O'Kinly's eyes drifted to the corner where the procession had marched, and then to me. "They found 'im didn't they?" The cheery disguise in her voice had left and what was left was the solemn, in her understanding of my past. A simple nod of my head landed her grasp upon my shoulders as we made our way back to the abandoned carriage.

The ride home was a blur. Those eyes. There was nothing that could make me forget the look in his eyes when he saw me in the crowd. It was as if every memory, every moment we shared, he had emitted through his eyes and pierced into my soul.

"Mme. O'Kinly?"

"Yes dear?"

"What will happen to him?" She took a long breath looked long at my questioning figure in the cab.

"I heard ees scheduled to be hanged." I swallowed hard at the harsh reality that sunk deep to my core.

The corners of my eyes burned and I shifted my gaze to the passing landscape. It wasn't long before we were once again at the door front of the de Changy residence.

My door slammed before Raoul could get a word in and fine linens met my burning cheeks. No tears. Why?

I didn't care if I crumpled my dress or about the stiff corset prodding my abdomen. I buried myself in the abundance of pillows and just breathed.

My eyes traveled down to my finger, still tingling from the heat of _his_ stare. The gleam of diamonds overpowered the pearl's milky luster.

_His face…_

It was without a mask. His misfortune, exposed to the multitude. A pearl surrounded by diamonds. Or was he? It was curious…I hadn't even noticed the lack of his mask. Probably because his gaze held more attention. Those diamonds of eyes which overpowered the misfortune…


	5. Chapter 5: Leash

_A/N: Wow, thanks for all the wonderful reviews! It's the reason this chapter got up so fast (all electronics hate me, I swear)! Just want to throw a few things out on the table: I know many waited long for the content of the previous chapter. However, in order to make this work the way I want it to, there must be a plot. What am I saying? You're gonna have to deal with fopness for the next couple chappies. I will try to condense, but believe me; it's for the good of the story. Just hang in there! Don't abandon me and I promise things will get better! Lots a luv!_

_Disclaimer: Roses are red…Scots are hot…I own Phantom of the Opera…or…not._

**Chapter 5: Leash**

The next few days went as ordinary as any. Raoul decided it was best to give me some room after that night, when Mme. O'Kinly must have informed him of the day's dealings. In fact, it never occurred to me how utterly boring these types of days could be; just sitting in the parlor sipping my tea, with nothing more than books and Raoul's business conversations to stimulate my mind. Of course, I was never allowed to listen in on his meetings, but the thick doors often yielded to my ears and allowed them a bit of hushed murmuring before the cigar smell faded and the air was stiff once more.

To my surprise however, on one of these mornings when the tea bit unpleasantly in its sameness, my attention was peeked when Raoul decided on paying his fiancée a little visit.

He sat down quite cheerfully after I had beckoned him to, in one of the armchairs near my window. He cleared his throat and I put down my cup as a sign for him to continue.

"Crumpet, I know it has been a long wait, so I think it's time for us to begin preparing for our wedding."

"The—the wedding."

"Yes, I've made us wait long enough, and I think the time is appropriate. We can even go into town to start planning today if you'd like."

"Oh Raoul, that's—that's wonderful! Oh, I'll get ready to leave."

Before I could walk away, he held my wrist earning him a questioning look from where I stood beside his chair.

"Madame told me what happened in the square the other day. But, you should be happy…_He_ will no longer haunt your mind."

_Happy? _"Yes Raoul, I am happy."

"That's my Little Lotte. Now—go make yourself presentable, and we shall ride to town at once."

Having changed into a suitable dress, we boarded the carriage and were off once again toward town. Everything was as it had been before, and after a few hours, we were back in the bustling streets. We turned a corner and stopped outside a quaint-looking boutique with a flouncey display window.

"But, Raoul, I thought we were going to the cathedral first...to speak to the priest _together_."

"Well, I have a few personal errands to run while we're here, and besides, we're only setting a date. The wedding is taking place at the cathedral and they need to know when. I just thought that while we're in town you might as well take a look at the bridal shop. My brother's daughter wants to be the flower girl and I thought you might like to pick out her dress. I will be back to fetch you within the hour, I promise."

With a kiss on the cheek, I was helped out of the coach and watched as it traveled back around the corner.

The bridal boutique smelled of fresh lilies and a bell on the door jingled as I pushed it open. It was quite petite in size, but packed with every bridal trinket imaginable, and surprisingly pleasing to the senses. Two middle-aged women greeted me from the counter as I began to browse.

I suppressed the feeling that boiled within me as I passed the wall of gowns and moved onto the veils. _At least I have a choice in this, _I thought as I thumbed the delicate lace and billowing chiffon of the headpieces. I couldn't help but be a bit let down when Raoul told me the wedding was taking place at the church. My childhood fantasies had always consisted of an outdoor wedding with arbors of flowers and a carpet of white rose petals. But my thoughts were soon interrupted by the conversation of the counter ladies. I strained to listen while still remaining passive.

"But this 'Opera Ghost' they call him, what is so strange about him?"

"He has a death's head, he does. I was there the night of _Don Juan Triumphant_. He had everyone entranced with his voice, even as far from the stage as I was. But then that, oh…what was her name? That Daae woman, tore the mask from his face! I was too far to see, but everyone said he was hideous! And then the chandelier…oh yes, am I thankful they caught him, that devil."

"Yes, I hear he's going to be hung publicly! When?"

"Last I heard it isn't for two months. Pity. The sooner the world is rid of him the better, I say."

Just then, the door bell jingled and a man's voice filled the store.

"Here's your bills and paperwork Madames."

"Well, thank you very much Monsieur Calloet. You arrived at the most convenient time. Tell us; when is the date scheduled for the Opera Ghost's execution?"

"Well, I shouldn't be giving you this kind of information, but I just spoke to a gentleman who offered me forty-thousand francs to hang him a month earlier than the scheduled date."

"Who? And why a month earlier?"

"He wouldn't say. But he did tell me to come to him the day of the hanging to receive the other half of my share. It will be November seventeenth now."

"Well, thank you Monsieur."

"Oui, il ne pas de qua. Now if you will excuse me, I have other documents to deliver. Good day Madames."

"Good day."

The lace was wrinkled when I released it from my grasp. A strange pang settled in the back of my throat. The two ladies continued their conversation but I did not bother to listen to a word of it. I had to leave the store. I couldn't stay there a minute longer no matter what other information they had.

My heels clacked sharply down the bustling walk. Who was this gentleman they spoke of, and what was it to him what day _He _was…

"Christine!" The shout was familiar and I turned to see Raoul waving and hurrying to me across the narrow street.

"Raoul! I—I was just…"

"I thought I told you I would meet you in that shop. Why are you out here?"

I searched my brain for a quick and logical response. "Nothing really interested me and I decided to try my luck someplace else. I was going to come right back…"

"Yes, well, you shouldn't have wandered without telling me. I'm sorry I was so quick to accuse. I just…don't want anything to happen to you."

"Raoul, I survived walking these streets alone in broad daylight for years before you came along. I'm sure I can manage."

"Yes, but you are to be a Vicomtess and I worry about you. Promise you won't stray again."…

A man with a fluffy terrier paced quickly past us on the sidewalk. Despite the little dog's curiosity, the man tugged on the leash and the little dog had no choice but to stay by his owner's side. I could identify.… "I promise."

"Alright. I think we're through for today. I've arranged everything with Father Jon. I'll show you once we're in the coach."

Within a few minutes we were back in our carriage. Only when we were free from the noise of Main Street, did Raoul finally show me the document.

_ORIGINAL DOCUMENT of CERTIFICATION from the NOTRE DAME CATHEDRAL, Paris, France 1871:_

_This is a certificate stating the closing of the Notre Dame Cathedral to the public in event of the marriage of Monsieur Vicomte Raoul Christophe Etienne de Changy to Mademoiselle Christine Daae between the hours of 14 and 16 on November the seventeenth of the year 1871. Signed by Father Jon and the elders of Notre Dame. May God bless your marriage. _

"November…seventeenth?"

"Yes, I know it doesn't give us much time, but it was the only date available. Other than that, we would have to wait another year before there was opportunity for a public closing. That's alright with you isn't it?"

"Yes, yes its just…nothing."

"Well, you and Mme. O'Kinly are going to be very busy writing invitations. I'm estimating but I pretty sure there will be at least 450."

"Mm."

He was right. Letter, envelope, name, address, fold, press, seal; that was our routine over the next two weeks. Madame and I formed a rhythm in which we worked from dawn till dusk. The names began to look the same after the seventy-fifth envelope, the 'Monsieurs' and 'Madames' all blurred into mass of titles, but one thing on every letter remained the same. November 17th, November 17th….you are invited to witness this holy union….November seventeenth.


	6. Chapter 6: Tears and Rain

_A/N: I'm sorry my quick-update legacy was short-lived. It came to my attention from a certain reviewer, whose name shall remain anonymous, that I use too many semi-colons in awkward places. I am very sorry to everyone for my mistake. Spelling and punctuation is not my strength. Whenever I can't decide whether to put a colon or comma someplace, I settle the mental dispute by inserting a semi-colon. I will try to refrain from being semi-colon happy. Here, I'll show you, I'll get it all out of my system. ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;! There. Also, I'm taking a survey: would you rather have short, quickly updated chapters, or wait for the goods? Tell me in your review. Hope this isn't too shabby. Inspiration is running low…I just can't wait to get to the good part! Lots a luv! Keep up the awesome reviews! Smoochies!_

_Disclaimer: I see London…I see France…I own Phantom of the Opera…and Gerard Butler in his underpants! _

_Speaking of fantasies…_

**Chapter 6: Tears and Rain**

It was November sixteenth. All the invitations were sent out, all R.S.V.P s were received, all of society was prepared. In one day, I would be known to France as the Vicomtess de Changy. In one day, there would take place a union between Paris's most beloved couple. In one day, there would also be another union, one that was between Death and—

"Miss Daae!" Madame O'Kinly's shrill voice reprimanded me from my spot near the window. "What in heavens name are ye doing up at this hour? You should be in bed! You have a big day tomorrow!"

"I know, I'm sorry, I just couldn't get to sleep."

"Well, I'm sorry for you too..."

"Mmh."

"If you can't sleep, you won't be awake for the wedding!"

"The wedding?—the wedding! Oh, don't worry; I think my nerves will wake me by then."

"Yes, yes, enough! Now hop under those covers before you catch ye death!"

The candle flickered for a few moments before it snuffed out.

_The crowd roared and gathered around the gallows. "Ladies and gentlemen of Paris! Tis the day you have come to observe the punishment of the ever infamous Opera Ghost…." _

"_Boooo!"_

"…_by his own weapon!"_

_I wandered aimlessly through the buzzing crowd. I could make out a few objects between the heads in front of me. There was the gallows the gallower, and the man himself. His identity was hidden beneath a canvas bag. The crier was saying something else._

"_On this long-awaited occasion, this satanic demon shall be punished for his crimes of kidnapping, murder, deceit and the burning of our beautiful Paris Opera House herself!"_

_Again, the boos rang through the square._

"_For these heinous acts, he shall be hung by the neck until dead!"_

"_YAAAA!"_

"_We shall also provide for your delight the pleasure of seeing the monster's face while he dies!"_

_Just then, the canvas was removed and the oh-so-familiar face singled me out in the crowd. The gallows cracked and he was dropped. Beneath the platform, the sickly twisted head called to me._

"_IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT CHRISTINE! YOU DID THIS TO ME! I LOVED YOU! IT'S ALL YOUR FAULT!" _

I awoke, a cold sweat crawling between my skin and my chemise. _That voice…_ so familiar it was. That same voice capable of mesmerizing tendernessrang angrily in my mind. _Calm yourself Christine. It was just a dream._

However, a sinking feeling made itself known in the bottom of my gut as my mind came to rest on different matters.

The wedding. My wedding. November seventeenth. Today.

To no one' s surprise, Mme. O'Kinly entered shortly after and proceeded to help me off to the chapel, where I was to wait out my last minutes unwed, in the upstairs parlor.

Dress on, babies' breath fastened in my pile of curls, my image stared back at me through the foggy mirror. Any other bride's thoughts would have been occupied with her mother, present with her in the room, tears of joy streaming down her powdered cheeks. Mine were on my father. What would he say if he saw me now? Christine Daae, future wife and Viscountess to Monsieur Viscount Raoul de Changy. It was funny. My fathers face was getting harder and harder to remember, as was his mannerisms, his voice, his way of talking when it was just us.

I noticed, however, that I was no longer alone in the room. My heart gave a leap as my eyes lay upon a black figure in the mirror. I leaped around to discover Raoul's mother looking rather indifferent in her oppressive black lace.

"Oh…hello." I breathed.

"Your ribbons are poorly tied, turn back around." Cold hands picked forcefully at my back and tightly cinched the awkward bodice.

"Tis a pity your mother couldn't be present on this day…"

"Thank you."

"…though I hardly think a tear would have been shed if she would have known what a devious little snipe you are."

"P-pardon?"

"Don't lie to me. You know very well what I speak of, you grasping, greedy little peasant." A vice-grip, frigid and hard as stone plunged itself into my shoulders as her face came close behind my right side in the mirror. "You might have thought I knew nothing of you when you first came to my house. You were quite wrong Ms. Daae. I was there that night at the Opera when you performed the first and last showing of _Don Juan Triumphant_." My heart raced in my chest. She continued. "You were the talk of the city. 'Ballet rat turns Opera Prima Donna'. Yes…I know you very well. That night I came to see you for myself, to judge the woman my son talked so much about in his droning letters. What I saw made me decide you were perhaps the last woman on Earth who would ever deserve to inherit any of my family's fortune. You were not true to my son then, and you most certainly are not now."

"Please…Madame….I don't understand—"

"The Opera Ghost, Don Juan, the demon who poured out his heart to you the night of the fire. Don't think I cannot notice the look of true passion you two so forwardly shared in the song about fire, love and consummation. No one else can see it, but I am not so blind. You weren't kidnapped. You ran off together, you and that devil. And you still love him now, I see it in your eyes, you dirty little whore. I will leave you now, but know this: if you really know what's best for you, you will leave now and free my Raoul of your conniving plan to pilfer us."

With that the door to the small parlor slammed shut, leaving me alone with my confused tears. Perhaps for the first time in my life, my mind drew a complete blank. I just stood there, processing the events of the past five minutes and collapsing to my knees from the dizziness hazing my mind. Crawling my way over to the open window, I let the humid breeze revive my lungs and cool my heated eyes. Storm clouds threatened above and I thought I heard the slight rumble of thunder, but on further inspection, the rumble I heard was not that of nature. Drums. The same drums in my dream.

I looked down to see a carriage pull up to the front of the church and a portly man hop out. The doors of the church also opened, and to my confusion, Raoul walked swiftly out to meet him.

"Good afternoon Monsieur Viscount." I tilted my ear. "You said to—"

"Yes, I know, and you're late."

"I am very sorry but—"

"Never mind just," Raoul reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a small blue pouch "here it is, and make sure he is dead before the ceremony ends."

"Yes, monsieur." The man drove away and Raoul went back into the church before I could process what was now coming together so clearly. _Raoul? How could he? The date was not a coincidence? He planned everything?_ Of course. Our trip to town. But…Raoul? The man I trusted. The man who offered to sacrifice himself to save me that night when…

I had to leave. I couldn't do this. Not now. Everything was wrong. I hastily looked around the room and decided. I quickly stood up grabbing my purse and everything I brought and quietly made my way down the wooden stairs.

Damn. Ushers. I crept quietly around the corner and was half-way out the back door when someone caught my sleeve.

"Christine! Where are you going? Everyone's waiting for you! The ceremony is about to begin!" Mme. Giry exclaimed, the obvious surprise and confusion in her features apparent.

"Please, Mme. Giry, you've been more of a mother to me over these years than anyone—"

"Yes but—"

"Please understand that what I do now is for everyone's good"

"But—"

"Please! I must leave. Please make an excuse for my absence until I can get far enough."

My attempts to flee were once more detained by the tug of my sleeve.

"Christine. Does this have anything to do with Erik?"

"Who?" Voices were suddenly heard from inside. Mme. Giry looked worriedly in their direction and back at me.

"God be with you child."

I offered her a quick smile before bounding across the gardens and onto the cobbles. The sound of the drums had ceased and the voice of the crier could be heard a block away. "Ladies and gentlemen!"

_No…I have to go…anywhere…just anywhere away from here._ The dark clouds gave way to fat drops which quickly turned into a steady downpour. The elements smacked my face as I ran, away from home and everything I knew. I had to get away.

What a sight I must have been to the ticket master, who eyed my dripping form suspiciously before handing me my ticket for the first destination on the list. I didn't bother to see where, anywhere was better than Paris.

I lifted the weight of the soaked gown and the warmth of the train car enveloped me at once. I thanked the Lord for the lack of civilian travel on Sundays and took my seat half-way toward the back. The only other passengers on the train were an old woman, distracted by her book, and a sleeping man with his top hat drawn over his face. I turned my attention to what I had clutched under my arms. A light cape also drenched with the rain, my simple morning dress, my boots and my purse…inside, a piece of string, a withered violet, and two francs. _Good Christine…_

I shoved everything in a heap on the seat next to me and rested my head helplessly against the window and twisted the ring on my finger.

Its cruel sparkle was the last thing I saw before my aching conscience surrendered to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7: Gothenburg

_A/N: First off, I would like to thank all you awesome reviewers! The encouragement helps. And yes, I am still alive. School should be illegal, I swear. Also, to those losing hope: Notice that this is still not to my "good part". This is one of the last chapters of the plot setting, I promise. Oh, and the author would REALLY appreciate if reviewers didn't critique her lack of historical accuracy. Yes, they did hang people in the 1800s; it is even legal in some states today. But this is fan fiction, and some things are better left to the imagination. Your reviews are my fuel! Lots a luv!_

_Disclaimer: Roses are red…some aren't…I own Phantom of the Opera…and here are the police with an arrest warrant. _

_Lame, I know._

**Chapter 7: Gothenburg**

THUD. _Ouch! _My head took a hard hit against the darkened glass as the train car jolted about. There were quite a few more passengers aboard now and I wondered how long I had been asleep. The seat next to me, however, was still vacant and none of my belongings had been misplaced. I was then suddenly aware of a terrible itch of warm moisture on my skin. Sure enough, I had managed to soak halfway through the seat and still half rainwater to spare. But as I looked down to see if something could be made of my soaked gown, something came to my attention that I didn't remember putting there.

Yes, I had remembered shivering a bit in and out of sleep, but I didn't remember ever retrieving a train car blanket. The dark blue wool was draped carefully over my lap, ending just below my chin. _How strange…_

"Next stop: Gothenburg!" The attendant hollered. _Gothenburg…Sweden! I had bought a ticket to my birth place? Good God Christine, what would father say? _All too soon the reality of my predicament sunk in. What was I to do in Sweden? I had hardly enough money to survive a week at the most. When was I going to learn to think out these things? Just then the train came to an abrupt slow and I was forced out of my thoughts and forward in my seat. I was tugged back when the train came to a complete stop and the other passengers began bustling out.

"Excuse me? Attendant?"

"Yes ma'am?"

"This may sound strange, but I don't remember ever putting this on" I held up the blanket for inspection. "Did someone, by any chance give it to me?"

"Yes ma'am, a passenger, in fact. He said you were soaked—looks like you still are! Said you might be cold and insisted I bring him a blanket. If you don't mind me saying ma'am, it'd be in your best interest to change into something dry before you catch your death. We're a great deal north of France."

I shook my head at the information, focusing on one fact. "A man?"

"Yes ma'am, seat #23"

I was too far back, but I looked just in time to see the man in the top hat get up and exit the train.

"Thank you, attendant."

I gathered my things and headed toward the front of the car, but not before stopping at seat #23. I didn't expect anything to be there, but sure enough, a black leather wallet was wedged between the seat and backrest. _Monsieur Richard Firmin… Monsieur Firmin? He was here? Why was he going to Sweden? _Putting the wallet among the rest of my things, I stepped out into the frigid night air. For a while, I followed the direction of the crowd, but after a while, my following turned into a lonely wander. The frozen dirt alleys of the town were nearly abandoned and I absently picked the withered babies' breath from my disheveled curls. I stopped to perhaps seek out a form of shelter for the night, when I was suddenly aware of the sound of several feet.

I looked warily around and saw a group of shuffling men quickly closing in.

"What's this?" The first man slurred with an intoxicated breath, bearing a grotesque set of teeth.

"Looks like the mistress got a new whore." The second seethed, coming dangerously close with each of his wavering steps.

"I'm no whore. You would do best to stay away from me, sir!"

"And you would do best to be kind to a paying customer!"

I tried bolting in the other direction, but I was caught by a third man whose stanching arms forced me against a cold wall. The others joined in and the antique de Changy dress was being torn to pieces by the drunken wolves. _No! Not me! Not now! Help! Help someone! _But my mouth was covered by a calloused palm before it could escape my lips.

Just when I thought all hope was lost, the weight was lifted and I fell instantly to the floor of the alley gasping for breath. Something or someone had pulled off my attackers and was now putting up a brutal fight. They must have succeeded, for I didn't remember anything else after my world glazed over and the rest of me collapsed in the dirt.


	8. Chapter 8: Fainting Spells

_A/N: Geez, every other word out of your mouths is Erik. Where is Erik? Is Erik going to get killed? Christine is going to leave Erik? Is Erik dead? PEOPLE! Do your really think that a girl who writes about a half-naked Gerard Butler in her disclaimers is going to leave Erik out of the picture? Relax! It's still the beginning in my eyes. All will reveal itself in due course…Lots a luv! Don't forget to tell me what you think; otherwise, it will probably be another month if no reviews give me hope!_

_Chapter 6 Disclaimer—the sequel: I see London…I see France…I own Phantom of the Opera…and Gerard Butler without his underpants! _

_Moowaahhahaaaa! I'm sick, I'm aware._

**Chapter 8: Fainting Spells**

The world was still dark when I came to. I rubbed a bruise on my arm and tried to recall the events before I passed out. _There were men…yes, men that tried to—no they didn't. Someone stopped them…who? _

Two shrill voices echoed beyond a door and a dim light suddenly illuminated the room.

"LOVISA! Lovisa! SHE'S AWAKE!"

"Olga, would you stop your hollering, you're gonna lose your appeal!"

"What the hell do you mean I'm gonna 'lose my appeal'? I bring double what you bring in, you mange!"

"Why I--"

"Stop your jabbering, both of you!" a new voice sounded.

A large woman pushed by the two scantily dressed youths and approached my cot. A bright red corset squeezed around her inflated middle and the swell of her pale bosoms spilled obnoxiously over the black lace trim.

"What's your name, you?"

The others sauntered over with their hands firmly at their exposed hips eyeing me like an insect.

My attention turned back to the woman's question.

"C-Christine, ma'am."

"I'm Stella; mistress and owner of the House of Lovely Ladies."

"You mean…you three, you are…this is a house of ill repute?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" The two younger girls chimed. My eyes had begun to adjust and I noticed now, the lack of a skirt below their bodices. They simply had on their bodices and guarders holding up their black fishnets.

"Look, I thank you for your hospitality, but I don't want to be a burden so if you could just give me my dress…" I looked around for the cape and morning dress, but the bundle was nowhere to be found.

All of a sudden, a royal blue corset, similar in design to the others, was thrown in my direction. Stella came at me with a perfume bottle.

"Now listen to me, you start work in about two hours. We don't settle for any less than we're worth here, so demand the highest price you can. They may seem rougher, but trust me; men are much easier to bargain with after they have a few drinks in them."

My confusion was almost as great as my disgust. "I'm no whore!"

Lovisa came at me. "Why, you ungrateful little snot!"

Olga came to stand beside her. "Forget two hours! It's about time you pay us back for our generosity!"

They each left the room for a moment, but when they returned, they had brought with them a foul-looking man finishing off the last of his rum. Before I could protest, the door was closed, and I was left in the dark with the "paying customer".

My eyes darted nervously as I searched for some type of escape, but before I knew it, a weight was on the foot of the cot, and hot, moist breath drifted over my neck.

His hands groped blindly and caught me when I scrambled. I was too consumed with terror to notice the commotion building behind the door.

Before I knew it, the door burst open and the man was thrown to the other side of the small room. Several shadows shifted back and forth in the bright doorway. Someone roughly grabbed my wrist and began dragging me from the room.

"What do you mean she's not a whore? You brought her here! I expected she wanted to be employed!" Stella screeched at my abductor as she hurried after us down the stingy hall. "Mr. Firmin! You took away my new employee! Now what do I get in return for the use of my room!"

The front door opened and I was unceremoniously tossed out onto the walk. The man in the top hat threw a small pouch to Stella before closing the door, leaving us alone in the street.

I gasped to catch my breath and surveyed the man who was still facing the closed door of the whore house.

"Monsieur…Firmin?" I ventured timidly.

The pause that followed seemed an eternity before, slowly, the top hat was removed and the tall, cloaked man turned to face me.

My heart stopped.

The swinging lantern of the tavern glowed upon the white mask. But it could not outshine those eyes. Those turbulent eyes that would not let anyone forget them.

"You…" was all I could manage to choke out.

All I could remember after that was falling. Falling with the gleam of a white mask burning in my vision…

_A/N#2: I'm the cliffie-queen, I know. It always seems like she keeps waking up from things, but there was no other way I could find to end this chapter. So, forgive me for my overuse of Christine's fragile state. I apologize. And if you didn't notice until I pointed it out…well then…never mind… _


	9. Chapter 9: Headaches

_A/N: This is short, I know, but it seemed to be a good end to the chapter, and I wanted to give all of you wonderful reviewers something to chew on. Your comments really help! Notice the pattern: I get reviews, the chapters come out faster…get it? Lots a luv!_

_Disclaimer: Authoress cannot think of a creative disclaimer at the moment, and would like everyone to know that if she did, in fact own Phantom of the Opera, she would also have sexy massage therapists waiting on her hand and foot, ten unicorns, her own theater, and would be too busy playing in Lotte-World to waste her time writing fan fiction. _

_Heh, heh…I slay myself… _

**Chapter 9: Headaches **

One can only faint so many times in one night before one's head begins to show the effects. The pounding that remained steady in my temples increased when my attempts to sit up from the mattress failed and I sank weakly back under the covers.

"I wouldn't do that."

My eyes shot open in remembrance. They darted quickly, searching the darkened corners until they rested upon the mask, standing out from the shadows.

"You…you're supposed to be—"

"Dead? True." That voice. I had almost forgotten the power it held over me. Deep, but smooth. The same tone could put a baby to sleep, while instilling fear on anyone who dared disturb it.

"I don't understand…"

I saw the shadow move and curtains on the far wall were drawn open, sunlight spilling into the room.

He came towards the bed but stopped half-way. We just sat there for a moment studying each other, memories drifting in the space between us.

His appearance hadn't changed, save for several wounds suffered to the left side of his face, ones which I witnessed being made the day of his arrest. He was dressed in a black, expensive-looking suit, with his mask firmly in place. However, on further inspection, the suit seemed slightly oversized, and his dark brown hair, usually tucked beneath a black hairpiece, now hung loosely framing his face.

He advanced one more step and dropped something in my lap. I looked down and the words _The Paris Press_ stared back at me. I looked back up to see him returning to an armchair in the corner.

I was confused as to the purpose of my reading this newspaper until I read the front page headline:

_**Opera Ghost Disappears Once Again**_

_Yesterday afternoon, November the seventeenth was the scheduled date for the hanging of Paris's infamous Opera Ghost. We regret to inform you that, though the execution went as planned, the criminal himself was not killed. Instead Monsieur Richard D. Firmin, co-owner of the Opera Populaire was discovered to have been hung in his place. Is this the work of the Phantom amusing our city with his sleight of hand? When asked, those in charge admitted they did not remove the execution hood at any time before the sentencing. It is possible that the Ghost 'switched places' with Firmin when he went to see him in the jail earlier that day. If you have any information regarding the capturing of this murderous Phantom, please contact the Paris police immediately. Possible rewards attached. _

I set the paper back down and turned my attention back to where he had his eyes fixed on me in the corner.

"The train…? That was you?"

His eyes turned to the floor.

It was all making sense. "You killed Monsieur Firmin."

"I didn't kill him." The danger in his voice made me shudder. "They did. I simply found a way to escape. It's their fault they didn't check to see who they were hanging." I detected a hint of amusement in his voice.

"You haven't changed, have you? You're still the sorry soul I left seven months ago in those cellars."

"You counted."

"What?" I asked, my anger rising.

"You said you left seven months ago. You counted."

I shook my head in confusion.

"Looks like you haven't changed either. If I recall correctly, you should be basking in your perfect life as the Vicomtess de Changy. You're still the flighty, immature child unable to decide what she wants."

I clenched my fists. "And you're still a hideous, sorry excuse for a human being, and the farthest thing from an angel I could ever imagine!"

The second it left my lips, I knew I had gone too far. The look on his face turned from the sly glee of testing my limits to that of a beaten dog.

There was a long, stricken pause before he stood up, dropped a bundle on the foot of my bed and shut the door with a soft click.

My misplaced items presented themselves to me, folded neatly where he had left them, and a shallow, empty feeling settled in the back of my throat.

_What just happened…?_


	10. Chapter 10: Husband

_A/N: You guys are crazy! I understand that the last chapter made people want to Punjab me. I'm sorry. I promise, it will only happen a couple more times… (Looks around nervously). Giggle. HAHA! GUESS WHAT! I SAW POTO ON BROADWAY! IT WAS THE BEST 3 HOURS OF MY LIFE! _

_Disclaimer: the roses are red…and the violets are blue…and they don't own Phantom of the Opera either_

**Chapter 10: Husband**

Even after he left, his dark presence still lingered in the small room. I could hardly convince myself that the calloused man that stood before me only moments ago was the same man whose gentle manner and soothing voice had filled the void my father had left, masquerading as my Angel of Music. It was hours before another sound came from the closed door, and when it came, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

BANG BANG BANG! The door quaked on its hinges.

"Hello in there! Oy, open this door!"

I padded softly over to the abrupt racket and pulled the door slightly ajar. A foul looking man with yellow teeth was presented to me. He pushed his face close to the opening and when he spoke, the sour odor of decay drifted from his lips.

"You've only paid for one day's board and it's now been several hours into the next!"

"Pardon?"

"You heard me right. Now pack your things unless you want to give me another day's rent!"

I looked back around into the room and spotted my purse in its spot on the foot of the bed. Darting back to reach it, I searched hastily for the black wallet. _He took it with him…_

"You want to hurry it up?"

I stared down at the two pitiful francs.

"Well, you see sir, I…do you think you might give me a bit of time? You see my…er…_husband… _has gone out for a bit. He'll be back within a few hours, though."

"I don't have a few hours! Now for the last time, pay up or get out of my inn!"

Just then, a dark shadow befell him and spoke to him in the coldest of manners.

"You dare to shout at my wife?"

"Monsieur," the man's voice changed drastically in tone. "I-I was just informing the lady of your needing to leave unless you pay another day's fee. -- Sir."

"Well, _dearest wife,_ did you inform the kind man of our planned departure?"

"She didn't Monsieur, but I—"

"Then what gives you the liberty to speak in such a way to a _paying _customer?"

He retrieved the black wallet from inside his trench coat and dropped several coins into the inn-keeper's palm.

"We will leave within the hour, but do not mention my name to anyone if you know what's good for you."

"Yes, Monsieur Firmin. Not a word." With that, the innkeeper hurried back down the hall.

I hastily moved back from the door as it swung open and _he_ calmly walked in.

"Ah, I see you've dressed. It's a good thing, _wife_," He cast a sly look my way, but I averted my eyes,"since we'll need to leave at once."

"Where are we going?"

He stopped packing and focused his attention to where I was leaning against the wall.

"_You're_ going home. Now the rat, Firmin, only had 400 francs in his wallet so I could only manage to purchase—"

"You're turning me in?"

He stopped once more. "You didn't actually think I was going to kidnap you with your husband and the authorities probably searching all of Europe for Madame de Changy—"

"No."

"Pardon?"

"I'm not going." The questions I would have to answer if I were to return rang in my mind. "_Where were you Christine?" "Why did you run away?" "You let everyone down!" "Isn't Raoul good enough?"_

His eyes turned cold at my refusal. "And why not? You couldn't possibly want to…wait." His voice trailed off abruptly and his hard glare took on a murderous edge. "What did he do to you? What has he done!"

"I don't understand." My cheeks flooded with heat. _Wonderful, darling, now you'll have to explain your little escapade._

He dropped everything and advanced threateningly towards me. "Don't play games with me. You board a train to Sweden soaking wet with nothing but an empty purse and a change of clothes which hardly lets me believe you are on a private vacation. Then you almost get yourself killed and refuse a train home. Now tell me, what did that mangy son-of-a-bitch do to you!"

Mere inches from my face, my breath came out in shudders. "All Raoul has ever done is love me." _Almost…_

He huffed and went back to packing, stuffing everything into a leather sack.

"Well then, if you don't mind, we should get going. You have a train to catch."

He swung the sack over his shoulder and opened the door.

"Wait ange- I mean, phan…er..." _You've known him all your life and you don't know his name? _"Well. You never mentioned your _real_ name." I spat.

He shot a heated look at me and continued out the door. _What? No. Wait! Where are you going? _I rushed to the doorway as I watched him pace down the hallway. He slowed to a stop and lowered his head. After a deep breath, he turned to look me square in the eye.

"It's Erik. My _real_ name…is Erik." He donned a top hat, turned and continued down the hallway.

_Erik…my angel has a name. _

I looked around the room and made sure there was nothing I was forgetting. Then I closed the door behind me, and walked quickly to where he had disappeared around the corner.

It wasn't until I had descended a flight of stairs that my eyes found him again. He was handing a little gold key back to the woman at the front desk who was eyeing him warily. With a quick glance to me, he walked out the door of the inn. The door jingled as it shut behind me and I watched _him_… the Phantom which now seemed lost within this 'Erik', pace hastily out onto the cobbles. I scurried childishly behind him, keeping a good five foot radius. His eyes would occasionally swivel back, which was the only way I knew he had knowledge of my presence.

The only ones who noticed us were the shop-keepers out early for their morning routines and even they were too busy to pay mind to the strange couple navigating the alleys. He kept his top hat low over his eyes and the collar of his coat high around his neck. The owner of his slightly over-sized garments was no longer living. This chilled me and I extended my distance about a foot. Poor Firmin never deserved that.

A dull ache began to settle in my legs, but he showed no signs of slowing. I opened my mouth to tell him to slow down, when a gloved hand came up before my face. He peeked around a corner and waved me over. The bustling Gothenburg station situated next to a harbor came into view and I backed into the alley.

"No!"

"Yes."

"You won't make me." I backed and shook my head in violent protest.

"Won't I?"

His arm snaked around my back and shoved me out into the busy station."Here's six francs! Now go home, your husband will—"

"He's not my husband!"

The fire in his eyes was snuffed and an unreadable expression covered his features.

"I never married Raoul!" I paused and lowered to a rational tone. "It was a wedding dress I wore on the train."

I searched his face for some kind of emotion but found none, or rather, too many to name. His arm dropped back down to his side and his breathing slowed to a steady pace. I lifted my left hand for further proof but he needed none. Instead his gaze turned to the street behind me. His eyes widened and I was tugged back behind him.

"Looks like the Vicomte thinks otherwise."


	11. Chapter 11: The Fear

_A/N: Wow. Not many reviews. What are you guys turning on me just when I get to the good part? Geez. Oh well, I still have a few faithful reviewers who still love me. I love you readers too, but the reviewers hold a special place in my heart. I feel lonely. Lots a luv though anyway. Oh, andthe next couple chapters should be up shortly._

_Disclaimer: I see London, I see France…does the Phantom of the Opera even have underpants? _

**Chapter 11: The Fear**

"_Looks like the Vicomte thinks otherwise"_

"What?" I questioned, staring at Erik in utter confusion.

"_De Changy._ He's heading this way with what looks to be the Paris police in uniform, if I'm correct."

I looked around the corner and sure enough, there was Raoul armed with his posse of authorities.

"_Search every building, every alley, until you find the damn woman,_"

I gasped.

_"and don't return until you have come upon something! The train master said she's here and we're not giving up until you lazy bastards find my blasted fiancée!" _His orders echoed off the buildings.

Erik turned his head and held my attention. He did not speak or move. He just looked at me expectantly.

_I give up. _I sighed grudgingly and pulled Erik deeper into the ally.

"I…I ran away because…I didn't know if I could stand being a Vicomtess after Raoul_ deliberately_ scheduled our wedding on the day of your h-hanging…and my mother in law is worse than the devil himself and all the parties and the people and the pressure and everything coming at me at once and my wedding dress didn't fit right and I just—"

"Sshh." A finger came up over my lips. By this time my eyes were burning with hot tears ready to spill over their rims. Erik glanced about scanning the alleyway, thoughts churning busily in his eyes.

"You were right," I said when the finger lowered and Erik sought his way to an alternate exit. "I am just what you said: a silly girl who can't decide what she wants."

"Come, quickly." He extended his hand as his eyes darted from the approaching voices to where I was slouched miserably against the alley wall.

_You're helping me?_

I ignored his hand but followed hastily towards the light of another opening. I found myself surveying his back as his arms swung loosely at his side. The air around him seemed to change after I had revealed my abandonment of the wedding alter. His flip attitude seemed to leave as fast as his thinking I was a married woman. I wondered what he was thinking, what he felt towards me now that I was no longer taken. _Did I haunt his thoughts as much as he did mine? _He had made it very clear that in his eyes, I was still a child. _Well, you _are_ following his lead, and trusting him quite juvenilely. _

The far end of the dock presented itself as we reached our destination, and harbor bell sounded while the gulls squawked overhead.It was vacant save for a grungy old man swapping the deck of one of the boats. He turned to mop the starboard and Erik signaled me to hurry.

I looked ahead towards a handsome mahogany boat. "_Neptune's Fear_? Erik we're stowing away!"

He did not answer; instead I was pulled up onto a ramp and landed on the deck of the _Neptune's Fear, _my boots clunking on the wooden planks. We descended a flight of stairs and entered a dank galley of the ship, closing the door behind us.

"State your name and your business on my boat." A gravelly voice came from behind us. My heart gave a leap as a cold nozzle prodded the back of my head.

_We've been caught, they caught us, we're done for. _

I wanted to tell him I had thought of him every day for half a year. I wanted him to comfort me as I remembered the voice had while I grieved my father in the small chapel of the Opera. Before I was lost to eternity, I wanted to tell him...

Before I could open my mouth, I heard Erik's words:

"Neptune rules the seven seas,

_Fear _looks upon his wrath with ease.

For with each breaking of a crest,

she puts the sea god's reign to rest."

I looked quizzically at Erik as the gun was lowered and he turned to face the ship mate.

"Why, Lord in heaven, it's the Fallen Angel himself! Good God, Erik, we wasn't expectin' you back for months!"

I watched baffled as the bearded mate roughly patted Erik on the forearm, Erik returned the gesture with a light smile, something I rarely knew to grace his features.

"Yes, well, _certain events_ have altered my plans."

I felt like a third wheel as Erik jerked his head to indicate my presence.

"Oh forgive me, milady," he said as he swooped down dramatically, lifting my hand with two fingers "and what might your name be, lovely?"

"C-Christine… Daae, sir." I expected he'd think nothing special about my name but his eyes widened considerably and he turned his head to look at Erik.

"Oh…oh I see." He mumbled more to himself than anyone. However, his attention snapped back to me after a few moments, and he resumed his go-lucky state.

"Welcome aboard _Neptune's Fear _Mam'selle Daae." Now it was my turn to raise an eyebrow. What was this man told of me that he should gawk at my name? And how did Erik fit into all of this? These questions and more rattled my logic as I followed the pair numbly back up to the ship deck.

"Crew! Oy!" I cringed as he sounded his call and one by one, his crew began to come out from behind the riggings. "Look what the heavens dropped!"

Each one sounded a cry of his own upon seeing Erik. "It's the Fallen Angel!" "He's back!" they squawked as they gathered around us in their masculine embrace.

_Fallen Angel?_ I had heard this name directed towards him once before and realization was making itself known. Did Erik have a…nickname?

It was all becoming clearer now. This was where he had spent the last half of a year. On a…was it a…pirate ship?

I looked around at the arriving members of the _Fear_'s crew. Each possessed a feature unique to their person; from a peg-leg, to exotic tattoos, golden teeth, though only a small few could be considered white. The crew resembled a band of gypsies more than they did pirates.

Then it dawned on me.

_Erik belongs. _Looking at him, he was the majestic image of a skilled outlaw. The white gleam of the mask over shone any eye patch or tattoo. Yes…Erik would make a very good pirate.

"Tell us, Erik, what brings you back to the _Fear_ so soon?"

Erik cast a hesitant glance at me and struggled to answer.

"Yes, and what of the de Changy fortune?"

I turned on Erik. "The de Changy fortune?"

Erik's breath became labored and his eyes darted from me to the crew. "Er…I don't think you have all been introduced. This is Christine…she will be staying aboard for awhile."

The crew reacted similarly to the first mate and whispered my name amongst themselves.

My attention turned to another matter. "Stay! I'm not staying on a _pirate_ ship!"

The crew immediately cast their eyes back to my shrinking person by the Fallen Angel's side.

The silence was broken however by shouting on the dock. _"Check every ship, every vessel and ask questions!" _Blue uniforms swarmed the harbor and I was pulled over to an enclosed area of the deck. Erik then began shouting orders of his own. The crew obeyed the deep, resonant instructions to prepare to set off immediately and to not ask questions. I gawked at the authority he held over them. They scurried about, opening sails and tightening the rigging.

I looked out from my place in the cubby and was surprised to see another woman staring back at me a ways down on the deck. Her black hair danced in the churning wind and her pale eyes bore bitterly through a face of coffee. Her acknowledgement was cold and I was relived when the door of my hiding place was closed and I was left alone in the darkness.


	12. Chapter 12: In the Dark

_A/N: I will make this brief. This plot is now thickening. I hope you're happy. I heart reviewers. Lots a luv!_

_Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue, the Phantom of the Opera is owned by lots of people…that don't include me or you._

**Chapter 12: In the Dark**

For what seemed like hours, all that could be heard was shouting and heavy footsteps along the deck. From my hiding place, I gathered from rushed conversations that Raoul's swarm had ordered all ships to remain docked while they went through inspection. The _Neptune's Fear _was not about to heed this warning.

_What had made Erik change his mind so that he would now risk capture again…in order to hide me?_ I combed this over through my logic, and came up with several theories: He could be holding me captive and demand a ransom. There was a mentioning of the "de Changy fortune". Their meaning, I had yet to investigate. But somehow the thought of being used in that manner became invalid. I couldn't seem to rid myself of the…hope…that my Angel, the Phantom, this Erik…might have still cared for me.

I twisted the ring on my finger and looked toward its place in the darkness. I thought seriously about tossing it off right there, recalling the harsh words I heard roll so easily from Raoul's tongue. How different he was from the man who had risked everything to save me that night. But once again, Erik had managed to take up full residency of my mind. Did Erik still possess some affection for his Angel of Music?

I had seen the look on his face when he had laid eyes on this ring. It was hard to believe the bleeding prisoner in the square was now captaining a pirate ship with all the authority of a king. _Then again…when was I ever sure of who Erik truly was?_

"_Just what do you suppose you're doing! You have been ordered to remain anchored at this dock while this vessel is inspected for a missing person!" _There seemed to be a struggle on deck and great many more footsteps came aboard. I wondered if our escape had been a success.

All of a sudden the door to my hiding place was flung open. I cringed in the corner of the cubby but the door was closed as quickly as it had been opened, and both occupants were immersed in darkness once more. I ventured to know the identity of my partner but as soon as I opened my mouth it was covered by a hand. Question answered. There was only one who could see to cover my mouth in pitch black.

The hand remained for a few moments and finally lowered, leaving my heart drumming fast in my ears. I breathed a calming breath, the purpose of which was not fulfilled when my senses were met with his familiar musk. Could I never escape him? Even the black of the darkness could not stop his fraught presence from slicing me in every way imaginable. I squeezed my eyes tighter and willed myself further into my corner.

I wondered what had happened to the emotions that had stirred when the nozzle of the first mate's gun had shoved the back of my head. Was this predicament not just as threatening as being prodded with a gun? However, the words that left my mouth in a faint whisper were not the ones I had expected.

"You're a pirate."

I waited with baited breath before I felt hot air and that voice whispered but inches from my person.

"Captain." This was not the answer I anticipated and it stirred what had been pent-up in my gut.

"and the 'de Changy fortune'?"

There was silence.

"Yes, they wanted to raid the Vicomte."

"And you were captured because of it."

"No." came the whisper. "I was captured because of _you_."

Before I could absorb his words, light poured into the small cubby and the grungy-faced first mate beamed exhaustedly down at us.

"They're gone." He panted. "Morgan here pointed them in the direction of tavern saying she had run into Miss Christine and knew where she was headed. Stupid bastards believe anything if it comes out of Morgan Lilith." The dark-haired woman beside him smirked proudly and extended a hand to Erik. He patted the first-mate on the shoulder and cast a smile to Morgan. I struggled to stand from within the confinement as the two men walked off. Making no attempts to assist me as she had done with Erik, Morgan Lilith inclined her head in a burning glare and turned to follow the two men.

Rarely had I ever heard of women aboard a pirate ship, let alone female pirates themselves.

My attention turned to another matter. _What had he meant, I was the reason he was captured? _I managed to crawl out of the cubby. Sure enough, water was putting distance between the _Neptune's Fear _and the Gothenburg harbor. I surveyed the deck, observing the taught rigging and inflated sails. Crew members sauntered to their duties while stealing a stare or two at the Christine Daae their captian had introduced, and whose presence they had scrambled to keep hidden from police.

I was officially aboard the _Neptune's Fear _now. I was a guest of the captain, the Fallen Angel…Erik.


	13. Chapter 13: A Guest of the Captain

_A/N: Okay, the moment we've been waiting for...THE TRUTH REVEALED! _

_Disclaimer: Starbucks employees don't own Phantom rights. _

**_Chapter 13: A guest of the Captain_**

I wandered around the captain's quarters, eyeing the scattered notes and pressing a finger to the large map. Paris…how distant it now seemed. I had found myself in this handsome office after getting word that Captain Erik requested my audience. I traced a line with my finger around France and up to our current position upon the North Sea.

"It's beautiful, is it not?" I jumped in alarm and spun to face Erik against the doorframe. "_Neptune's Fear. _I had once pondered what it would be like to captain a ship. It's quite a bit larger than a gondola, wouldn't you agree?"

I did not smile at his raw attempt at humor. Instead, I was too occupied with the knot tightening in my lower abdomen.

The corners of his mouth settled back downward and his gaze turned to no particular part of the cabin. I summoned up the nerve to speak.

"Please clarify how your capture was _my_ fault." He seemed taken back by my sudden bluntness.

"There is nothing to clarify. I returned to Paris for _your_ well-being and in a twist of events involving _your_ Viscount, I landed in a very inconvenient position."

Erik had a way of giving unsatisfying answers.

"Well then," I felt my rebellious stroke growing. "I will just have to ask amongst your crew to get my information."

I made to depart the cabin but Erik hastily blocked the doorway.

"That would not be wise." He put much meaning in these words and looked me square in the eye. "What you heard earlier still stands: they are after your Viscount's money. It seems Monsieur de Changy shifted his investments from the Gothenburg harbor and its regulars, to fully restoring our beloved Opera Populaire."

I gaped openly at this. It was true I had never made any effort to know the details of my fiancé's work, but investing in the Opera was something any attentive spouse would be aware of, especially considering my history with it.

Erik cocked his head. "I'm assuming you were unaware of this transaction? Well, as you can probably guess, it didn't go over too well with the crew. They're not the type to let a Viscount take away their harbor. It was quite a happy coincidence when I revealed my bad history concerning the Viscount with them. I became captain of their mission almost immediately."

He seemed sickeningly satisfied with his story and my cheeks grew hot with fury.

"So you planned to rid my husband of his fortune, which would, in turn, leave me penniless!"

His face fell and twisted into confusion trying to comprehend my reasoning.

"Are you that dense?" He grabbed hold of my shoulders. "You think I purposely wanted…_revenge_ for what you did to me? You assumed I would ruin your life as you did mine, when that was just what I was fighting to prevent?" His arms dropped defeated at his sides.

Now I was confused. "P-prevent?"

"Oh yes, I was in Paris for my health." He said, taking on a sarcastic, mocking tone. "I was captured fleeing from the Populaire. I had planned for 'the Opera Ghost' to warn Firmin about protecting his patron Viscount's money—that it might be in danger. Apparently my plans of scaring the rat failed, and after receiving my letter, he thought it best the Viscount and the authorities 'attend' the meeting as well."

I remembered Raoul's hasty refusal to join me in my travels the morning of the capture. It was all coming together.

"You were…trying to protect me?"

He turned his head sharply away so that I was faced with the gleam of his mask.

"I made an investment as well." His voice lowered considerably. "The exchange I made was my happiness for yours." He turned back and leaned closer so as only I should hear. "And no pirate was going to ruin that."

I stood dumbfounded as he shifted uncomfortably where he stood. I was trying to come up with what to say next when a small "Ooh!" was heard and that Morgan woman stood carrying a tray in the doorway.

"Am I interrupting?"

_Yes._

"No, Ms. Lilith, you may set that down on my desk. Christine, this is Miss Morgan Lilith, the _Fear_'s caretaker."

"Pleased to meet you." I nodded. She returned it with a sneer. Erik seemed oblivious to her behavior, and was instead, taking a hearty bite of his bread.

"I assume, Ms. Daae that you finally came to realize what an oaf your fiancé is and that you shall now share a cabin with me?" She did not sound at all happy, or even slightly content with the current situation. I wished nothing more than for her to leave and for me to never have to deal with her again.

Erik's chewing slowed and he looked back and forth between the two of us, wondering who would make the next move. When no one volunteered he settled the dispute.

"Well, thank you very much Morgan. That is most generous of you."

She smiled sweetly and snuck up beside him. "If it is what you desire, I am grateful to fulfill the wishes of the Fallen Angel." She kept her voice deep and seductive, protruding her bosom, and I almost had to keep myself from snorting out loud. He smiled and she swept gracefully from the cabin. A sudden, violent urge came over me then towards Ms. Lilith. I felt no shame in comparing her to an eggplant.

Erik cleared his throat abruptly and handed me a paper from his desk.

_Wanted for Kidnapping and Murder… _

"Erik, Raoul and I had nothing to do with these—"

"I know. But it is pertinent that you keep in mind the nature of what is at risk by hiding on this boat. Since you are no longer connected with the de Changy fortune, there is no purpose in me trying to protect it. But the crew will stop at nothing to make sure they acquire every penny. You must…play along…until there is a way out."

"You mean…become a pirate?"

"I think you'll find…you have a certain, shall we say, talent for stealing. After being a thief of hearts, gold should not be difficult."

_A/N: Come on, I know you want to review…please? _


	14. Chapter 14: Piracy

_A/N: I can hear you all saying "Finally! Now she's getting somewhere!". Ooo boy! Me thinks we don't like dee bitch. Mooaha. What's a story without a villan...or two...or four.._

_Disclaimer: (See Chapter 13 Disclaimer) + neither do minors. :)_

**_Chapter 14: Piracy_**

I lay awake in the small, rickety cot in Morgan's grand cabin. She was nowhere to be seen, her velvet bed coverings and golden tassels swung emptily with the sway of the ship. A steady commotion had been coming from the main deck for quite some time and warded off any slumber.

_What in God's name could they be doing at this hour!_ My curiosity got the better of me and insomnia drove me to the other end of the ship.

A party. The crew was celebrating. I crouched behind the riggings and watched as shirtless pirates danced around a lantern while the others clapped and stomped their rhythm. Morgan was being tossed from man to man as she suggestively swayed her hips and teased them with her colored scarf. One particularly rowdy mate lay hold of her rear, and he was returned with a sound slap to the face. The crew laughed and Morgan shouted upward.

"Oy! Captain, why don't you join the fun! I saved a dance for you!"

I looked to where she was shouting and was startled to see Erik with his arms folded, lounging against the net above. I prayed to God he didn't see me, but he merely grabbed a loose rope and swung down twenty feet to the deck below.

"Start that rhythm again boys, the Fallen Angel has decided to dance!" She hollered merrily and pranced playfully around Erik's person. My eyes narrowed.

"No, I don't want to dance." Morgan pouted and took a seat between the others.

"Well then, Fallen Angel," A crew mate shouted "Enlighten us with one of your songs."

My heart skipped a beat and I focused intently on Erik's face. He gave a nod and the crew let out a murmur of agreement, waiting with baited breath.

_That voice_. It floated from his lips exactly how I always remembered it. He was singing a Celtic tune I did not recognize, but never the less, it was enchanting.

Not a word could be heard from anyone. The only sound was the waves lapping against the bow and the mesmerizing voice that seemed to become one with the sea.

The sails flapped in the night breeze, when his lips closed and the haunting melody came to end. It was more than a while until someone dared speak.

"An angel you are, Captain Erik. An angel fallen from the heavens."

"The little twit, Christine, must regret choosing the oaf over the angel." Morgan spat, breaking the dazed mood of the crew and urging them into a mutual chuckle.

Erik held a blank expression. "No, she knew what she wanted. Besides, it's rude to speak that way of the lady whilst in her presence." He cast a glance over to where I crouched and I let out an involuntary gasp. All heads turned and I was suddenly caught in a very uncomfortable position.

I thought seriously about scampering back to my cot, but I rose to my feet and stood awkwardly in front of the staring crew. I looked to Erik for some guidance but he was focused casually on his folded hands.

"Wake you, did we?" "By all means, come have a sit." They sneered.

I didn't really have a choice. Morgan immediately relinquished her seat and took up another snuggly beside Erik. I humbly meandered to the spot she had left. The two men beside me smelled foully and eyed me in a manner that grated the nerves.

"So, Mam'selle Daae. Since you lisetened so intently," said the first mate. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Erik looked up at this and looked almost as eager for me answer as the others.

"I…I have decided it best for me to join you in your quest against Raou—the Viscount de Changy." I directed this at Erik who discretely nodded at my performance.

"You see Captain Erik?" I cringed as Morgan spoke once more. "She does feel remorse for her poor sense of judgement."

I felt heat come to my cheeks. The crew laughed along with Morgan.

"Speaking of which," said one of the crew, "Where's the information you set out for in Paris?"

It was apparent Erik hadn't prepared what he was going tell them.

"Well actually…my searching landed me in prison." There were many shocked replies to this. "Yes well…" he continued, "it seems I am quite the wanted fugitive in Paris."

The crew appeared to have knowledge of his past and stole quick glances in my direction.

"But no worry," he started again, "I was absent from my appointment with the executioner, but I got someone suitable to fill in." The crew found this amusing. I found it sickening.

"Well then," The first mate spoke again. "Having Miss Daae aboard may prove useful after all. With her Viscount searching all of Sweden for her, there will be no one to get in our way when we dock in France. The Captain will stay and man the ship, of course. Wouldn't want you stirring any more trouble in Paris, would we?"

"And if the raid doesn't go as planned," _There she goes again… _"we can always dangle the _fi-an-cée_ infront of de Changy's nose to get what we want..."

Eyes were on me once again, and I felt my hate for this Morgan Lilith growing by the minute.

"Well, hopefully we won't be forced to resort to hostage-keeping." Erik interrupted. "Now, Mr. Remorio, in which French port were you planning to dock?"

The crew rose to accompany the charting plans and followed Erik to the bow. The only ones left seated were Morgan and I. She had a satisfied gleam in her pale, gypsy eyes.

_A/N: If you review, I promise to reply...even if you're not a fanfic member! Hey you! Yeah you, the girl (or boy?) sitting infront of your computer reading this who doesn't have a fanifction acount! You can still voice your opinion! Just push the bluish review button...please?_


	15. Chapter 15: Ghost's Ship

_A/N: Ouch, we really don't like Morgan, do we?_

**_Chapter 15: Ghost's Ship_**

The North Sea was cold practically year-round, but became positively frigid as winter approached. The sea breeze ripped through my meager clothing and rattled my bones. The simple dress I wore was not enough to withstand the chill and my pride would no let me beg Morgan for hers. The cloth of the sails cracked with the force of the wind and my fingers numbed from my on-deck chore.

If I was to stay on the _Neptune's Fear_ I was going to earn my keep, so said the crew on the second morning. Obviously "earning my keep" included performing the tasks that no one else wanted to do. As soon as I finished one job, a mop was shoved into my arms and I was made to begin another.

What was worse, was that Erik, for a week now, had avoided me like the plague. I could count on one hand, the times I had glimpsed him in seven days. Even then, it was only through a window or in brief passing, and eye contact was never attempted.

He ran the vessel much like he did the Opera Populaire; keeping to himself, and making his thoughts known in writing. The only time he could be seen in full view was in the dead of night, when everyone else was asleep. He liked to take up his place in the crow's nest, high above the water, and just sit there for hours, gazing out onto the open sea.

It was one of these nights, when Morgan tossed noisily upon her velvet and satin. I stood in front of the small porthole that cast moonbeams into Morgan Lilith's cabin. There, I had a perfect view of the length of the ship and if I craned my neck, I could watch Erik's silhouette as he performed his nightly ritual.

Out here on the open water, there really existed the music of the night. There was a peaceful stillness in which the water crested, and rippling peeks danced in the moonlight. That's what I assumed Erik was listening to up in his isolated perch.

I turned back to the figure of my thoughts and discovered the dark shadow to have moved from his place in the crow's nest. With a quick glance back to the sleeping Morgan, I quietly crept from my place in her cabin. I let out a foggy breath and looked towards the bow. My feet made no sound as I scurried across the deck's wooden planks. A set of stairs brought me to a row of small porthole windows, which I remembered seeing along the right wall of Erik's office.

Each window emitted a soft glow and I crouched low beneath one. I gathered my wits and dared to peek into the illuminated cabin. _So far, so good_. I scanned the room and my suspicions were confirmed. Erik was hunched over in an armchair, steadily massaging his temples. I watched as he ran a hand through his hair and began to unbutton his shirt.

I knew I should have quietly snuck back to the other end of the ship at this point, but I couldn't pull myself away. The linen pile crumpled at his feet and he walked over to the burning fireplace. The orange glow of the flames reflected off long, raised stripes which covered his entire torso.

I gaped as he lifted a steaming pot from the flames and set it on a small table. Then, with a small rag, he dabbed the liquid upon the most raw-looking of his body's scars. I watched him wince and felt a twinge of pity. The crack of the cane echoed in my mind, with every touch of the wet cloth to his skin. His hands moved steadily upward until, to my shock, he lay hold of his mask. I must have made some small movement, for his hand dropped and his head suddenly snapped up, bearing into my face in the window. I gasped a breath and scrambled away, back down the steps and across the deck.

_He saw me! I invaded his privacy. _I took one anxious look behind and slammed into something hard before me. I looked forward and found myself staring into bare chest of Erik.

I dared to look into his face and found his expression inscrutable. His brow was deeply furrowed and his lips were pressed tightly shut. I backed up several paces and gaped at the scowling mask which seemed to be one with his face.

"What are you doing out of bed?" This was more a demand rather than a question and I cringed at the flat tone of his voice.

"er…" _You moved from where I usually watch you at night._

"They're healing quite nicely, wouldn't you agree? Or did you think the cane had dug deeper than my scars let on?"

"I'm—I'm sorry—"

"For what? For intruding on the privacy of my cabin…or sorry that you didn't lash a few marks yourself?" He snarled spreading his arms as to give me a better view of the reddened welts that raped his smooth chest.

My breath came out in shudders. His rage was something I would always fear more than anything in the world.

"Erik…please…"

"Please? Please what?" His tone lowered to a deathly whisper. "Stop frightening you? Take you back to your comfortable little Viscount's manor?"

I was at a loss for words. "Take me back?" came a queer voice that didn't sound like my own. "Erik…what would I do? Raoul is not the same man he was—"

"Is that right? Because I recalled him as always being an imprudent, pompous boar!"

"Erik…you're all I have now…I know a little of my Angel… is left in you somewhere…"

"No Christine, that is where you're wrong. The angel you knew died. I killed him. No…_you_ killed him."

I could not contain them any longer. My eyes leaked and hope poured in salty drops from my body.

Just when I thought he had broken me enough, he struck again.

"You say you do not love your Viscount, you say you are no longer his betrothed. Then why is it, madam, that his ring remains steadfast on your finger?"

An anger boiled from deep within my gut. I took hold of my hand and tore the wretched thing from my finger, casting it to the sea. It landed with a plop and sunk beneath the churning waves.

I inhaled deeply and walked straight past him back to Morgan's Cabin. Awake or asleep, I did not care. I would just march in and retire to my cot. She barked something insignificant when I slammed the door behind me. I didn't hear, nor did I care.

I hadn't bothered to look back when I left him standing on the deck. All I knew was that I had left his face agape and unreadable, in the moonlight of the open sea.

_A/N: I might use ideas you give me, so review…please?_


	16. Chapter 16: Triangle

_A/N: I can not communicate my apologies enough. It's been almost a year, I know. As I told a certain reader...life gets in the way. Thanks to anyone who hasn't given up on me. I promise to make it worth your while. _

_Disclaimer: Roses are red, violets are blue (more like purple), I don't own Phantom and neither do you...I think._

_I need more "ooo" rhymes._

**_Chapter 16: Triangle_**

For the next two days, I was very determined in my work. In my desperation for proving a point, I had unconsciously rid myself of any fortune I may have possessed. I thought of the ring sinking endlessly into the sea's black oblivion and my stomach gave a dreadful lurch. My future was a frightening blank. For now, I was aboard the _Neptune's Fear_. I was avoided by its captain and ignored by its crew.

Morgan grinned smugly as she treaded over the freshly swapped deck that had taken me hours with a mop. She carried a steaming tray and swayed her hips on the way to Eri—the Captain's cabin.

I took up the mop once more and rid the deck of her damned footprints. I then went back to changing the rotted rope on a pulley. I had not seen Morgan in her bed the night before. I hadn't thought much of it at the time, but now that I considered it, she didn't return until the wee hours of the morning.

They all loved her, the crew. She would walk past them and they would rub elbows and mutter amongst themselves. I remembered the night in the whore house and the attitudes of the raunchy girls that lurked in the dark. Morgan held the same air about her as they had. But no, a woman would never leave herself to the mercy of an entire shipload of pirates. They were…_pirates. _The very word suggested foul behavior and up-most disrespect. Yet, she was never treated poorly, and a pirate was scolded by the rest of the crew if he dared disrespect her. The more I watched her, the more I wondered if Morgan Lilith's true role was not just the loose gypsy she seemed.

That night, I was surprised to find her in the cabin. She sat at her round-mirrored vanity and was slowly running a brush down the cascading black locks. She scowled at my reflection and decided that her hair was more significant.

I stood by my corner cot in silence. The ship swayed and glass perfume bottles chinked by her hands.

"So, how many times per day _does _the Captain require his tea?" What was meant to remain the silent churning of my thoughts was unwillingly released into the air of the cabin. I snatched out to reel them back in, but it was too late. The words struck Morgan with their blade and she whipped her head to face me. Her pale eyes held a dangerous fire.

"Excuse me?"

There was no stopping me now. The dam had leaked and my lips seemed to move on their own accord.

"Well, it's just that your presence is so often required in his office that I wonder he does not grow ill of the beverage."

Her seething expression took on an amused edge and her lips curled up in a sneer.

"May I remind you that it is _my_ company he requires. I don't recall him ever sending for _you_ more than once. I will have you know that indeed, he does not request his tea. Rather, his thirst is for my company. He trusts me in ways that _you _could never satisfy."

Her slithering words writhed in the air and spat a deadly venom into my veins. A sudden concept invaded me completely. What did she mean _"he trusts her in ways I could never satisfy"_? Of course, the immediate answer was the intimacy she had been implying all along. But…what if it went deeper? Could it be possible that he had confided in this horrible woman with his most desperate of secrets?

A foreign sensation came over me then and the need to know drove me beyond reason.

"So then, he's showed you his face?" I asked in an almost casual and assuming tone. I watched in wicked pleasure as the corners of her lips sunk and she looked at me as if I were a ghost. The expression was gone in an instant, however, and she resumed her malicious state.

"Of course he has." She spat, raising her chin ever so slightly. "He trusts me above all others."

"His features must have been hard to get used to, then." I asked, donning the tone of fascination.

Pleased at her ability to convince me she held her head higher and loosed the grip on her hairbrush. "No, his appearance is actually quite unique." She stated, as-a-matter-of-factly.

That was the last straw. I could not contain it any longer. A low and menacing chuckle erupted from my throat. The chuckle turned to a heinous laughter from which Morgan flushed a deep scarlet.

_Oh yes, his appearance is quite unique, indeed. _

My laughs subsided however, when she shot up from her seat and slammed her hairbrush down.

"You laugh at _me_," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Well _I_ laugh at _you_. I think you fail to realize that your only purpose on this ship is to become bait for your Viscount. You think your _Angel of Music _only wanted de Changy's money? No, his real purpose was to get revenge."

"That's not true!" As much as I knew she was wrong, as much as I told myself she was lying, the truth was, for a minute I believed her.

"Not true? Why do you think he made a personal trip to your estate in Paris? I suppose you were too occupied with your little wedding to notice him watching you. Why did a ship of _pirates _wait around for a half-crazed stowaway to return from France, instead of going there themselves? Because, _Little Lotte_,"

My nickname from her lips became a curse. "Passionate men are dangerous beings…and they get what they want. We wanted to steal your money…and he wanted to steal your happiness."

"You're wrong!"

"No, I'm just blunt."

"He wasn't in Paris to hurt me! It was from you _pirates_ that he was trying to protect me!" I shouted the words before I knew what I was saying. I clamped my hand over my mouth and instantly regretted it. The spark in her eyes faded and her lips parted in thought. She blinked several times and looked to the door. She looked as if a sudden thought had dawned in her head. With one last burning gaze to me, she swept from the cabin and slammed the door behind her.

I immediately lamented my horrible tongue. I had given Erik my word not to relay his plan to anyone. I had openly blurted his secret to the worst possible receiver. Then it occurred to me. _Where has she gone?_

What did I have to lose? I would see once and for all what motive she held over this vessel. I slipped silently from the cabin and glanced about the open deck. A light was coming from the far end of the ship and a brief shadow approached Erik's cabin. I crept as I had two nights before and reached the row of porthole windows that looked into his office. This time I would be sure not to be seen. I crouched low and my eyes rested on Erik doubled over his desk. He appeared to be asleep, but opened his eyes when the cabin door creaked behind him.

Morgan slid in and pressed her back to the door. She advanced, hesitantly at first, and placed a hand on Erik's hunched shoulder. The moment her fingers made contact, he whipped suddenly around and glared. She was obviously taken back, but relaxed as his face softened and he stood.

"I told you not to come in without permission."

"The door was open."

"It's after dark. You should be in bed."

"So should you." She took a step forward and touched the front of his shirt. I saw him stiffen as he considered her actions. She pulled her hand back, bringing his collar with it and led him a few paces to a chaise. It took some coaxing but he finally allowed her to sit him down. I was holding my breath and watched as she smoothly bent to stroke his hair

A foreign sensation flooded me as I saw the half-dazed look in his eyes. I should have averted my eyes, but I remained transfixed on the scene before me. She was slowly bringing him down further when her hand moved to his face. My heart caught in my throat when it landed on the mask. All too quickly, however, a firm hand clamped her wrist and wrenched her from the chaise.

Morgan tumbled with a yelp onto the floor. Erik had shot from his position and was standing with his head bowed, a hand pressed to the wall. He was breathing heavily and I felt my own heartbeat quicken.

Morgan stood shakily and kneaded her wrist.

"I said _you should be in bed!_" he seethed. She did not have to be told twice. She was out the door with a bruised expression, marching determinedly across the deck. I abandoned the window and proceeded with caution. She disappeared down the galley steps and I crouched at the top. The commotion below deck seemed to quiet as she entered.

"He's been drinking. You were right _Captain_; he doesn't have it in him."

For what other man dared to call himself Captain aboard this vessel was beyond me. I strained to hear the other voice reply.

"Excellent work, daughter. Your seduction proved useful. It was a mistake to believe the freak could lead us to the fortune. Ah well, we can't all be a perfect judge of character. We'll just have to dispose of him. Be sure to keep the rum ample and then you can lure him overboard before dawn. I'm certain you won't protest to that, will you darling?"

I'd know the rusty voice of the first mate anywhere. But he wasn't the first mate. He wasn't any mate.

My logic was firing. Each link in this tangled chain was rapidly connecting. He was the captain…the _real _captain of the Neptune's Fear. And Morgan Lilith was not Neptune's sea-bound whore. She was his daughter…a pirate princess.

Her merciless laugh slid its cold fingers along my neck. Her deceit burned hotter than her words.

"Of course I wouldn't mind, however, I would greatly enjoy the task of preparing the bait."

"Morgan darling, I thought we had agreed to save our little minnow for de Changy. 'Waste not the tempting bait upon the smaller game'. _Your _charms will be sufficient enough."

There was a mutual chuckle among the crew which was instantly silenced.

"I have already told you, Father, his eye does not linger in my direction. He very near broke my arm when I used 'my charms' as you call them. No, I am not the only flower on this ship. Besides, cannot the 'tempting bait' be dangled before de Changy as well?"

There was pensive silence before her father's reply.

"Very well, you may do what you will with the little minnow, but for now, we celebrate. To a prosperous death and a dead prosperity!"

They chanted the toast and clanked their mugs in sinister glee. It was settled. The _Neptune's Fear _would regain its rightful captain, and I would be a minnow, prey to their plot.

There was a hollow creek below. Footsteps ascended and I scurried behind a pile of rigging. The black hair wisped against the starboard breeze. She paused at the rail and glanced toward the illuminated cabin. She remained fixated on its glow and if I had blinked, I'd have missed the solitary tear escape from one eye.

The next moment she was gone, treading steadily back to her bedchamber…to prepare the bait.

Reality hit me like a wave against the ship. She was looking for the minnow that wasn't in her cot. I was suddenly presented with a choice. A surge of recklessness took hold like never before. I was not the victim. No, I refused to be the victim. _I_ had control.

Everything lost its gravity in those mere seconds it took me to cross the deck to the glowing cabin where Morgan had directed her tear. The door was weightless and my strides were long as I crossed to his velvet divan. My hand seemed to fly on its own as it grasped the glass bottle and splashed its amber contents in his face.

There was a violent sputter and great flare in the eyes that shot open in drunken haze. They darted first to the bottle in my hand and then burned to my face. I dropped the bottle and clasped the hand over his snarling mouth. I didn't have time for his fury. For now I needed his cooperation.

The eyes which burned moments before now held about them an unnamable expression. It was beyond fury. I had never felt so week, yet at the same time, so strong. _His_ was an expression which I hoped never to see again. But for now, I would have to endure.

The iron which wrapped itself around my fingers pried them slowly and deliberately away from his lips. His face was but inches from mine and the liquor lay heavily on his breath. He growled in my face and I remained impassive.

"Listen to me." I said in a most deadly tone.

He struggled to stand and clutched at his head. He managed to straighten imposingly and I matched his stance. His teeth clenched but I stayed my ground.

"They are planning mutiny. We don't have much time. Morgan is discovering my absence from her cabin at this moment. They wanted to use _me_ to bait you into a deathtrap. You have to leave _now_."

I watched his face transform and twist once more.

"I am already in an eternal deathtrap…why should I care about a mortal one?"

My urgency affected him not. His words slurred in his drunken state and he turned carelessly away, swaying a couple steps and stopping at another thought.

"And what's more…why should you care about a creature of darkness?!"

His volume had increased and I was taken back by the bare face that whipped around to face me.

Why was I frightened? I had seen his face before. I knew what horrors lay beyond the mask and yet I was still shaken. I tried to remain stony but it was too late. I knew he had seen the flash of fear because in his eyes…was Erik.

He visibly unraveled. His shoulders fell and the drunken flare subsided.

_Why should I care, he asks? Why? Because…I…._

"I love you."

Where it came from? I didn't know. Was it true? I didn't care. It was as if time had stopped, and my entire world existed in the depths of his eyes.

Time was rapidly set in to motion once more. His previously intoxicated movements were suddenly swift and agile as I was swung into a corner. He was no longer looking at me and his mask was strangely replaced. His hand pressed lightly against my mouth as he searched the air for a single sound.

"It was bound to happen sooner or later." he said without slur. "They've been talking since you came aboard."

His sudden shifts of mood left me clouded and confused. His intoxicated manner had been instantly replaced with keen alertness.

He wasted no time in lifting the rug beneath our feet and firmly lowering me into a hidden compartment. His catlike stealth my pounding heart into frantic palpitations. He landed smoothly beside me and shut the panel just in time for me to see shadows pass the widow. The warmth of his cabin was gone now. The cold night air stung. The only warmth was the guiding hand wrapped securely around my wrist.

We emerged slowly from the dark into the moonlight. The warmth was gone from my wrist and a muffled crack preceded the thump of a body by my feet. He hadn't known what had hit him judging by his wide-eyed shock. The rope around his neck was retrieved and loosened from the sail from which it came. In all the years the Phantom had killed, I'd never seen him do it.

But I wasn't afraid. Somehow, on this ship bound by ropes, I knew we'd make it off alive.

_We. _

As casual as if it was second nature, he kicked the body aside and we continued toward the stern pausing behind various barrels to avoid the darting shadows. The next set of sails was a tangled web of lines and pulleys that barricaded the rear. He considered them for a moment and before I knew what was happening, I was lifted in to the air.

He moved surely and swiftly through the nets and sails. From that height, I could glimpse the docking boat secured firmly to the port side. A pulley dropped and it slid smoothly into the waves. With one last look to the deck, he tugged my arms around his neck and swung out over the rail.

I would have screamed if not for the fear of capture. A few drops and I was lowered into the boat. His fingers persuaded the knot to give.

The waves were pregnant and I did not notice the shift of the vessel as we untied the oars. I turned around, however, to the click of a pistol and the smile of a gypsy.

She kneeled comfortably against the keel and looked amusedly between us. I couldn't see his face, but I could feel his anger.

"Row back." she purred.

Silence.

"Row back and I won't shoot her."

"You're making a mistake."

"And you're underestimating my hatred. Row back and she lives. Refuse me, and she goes to Neptune."

It was as if I was reliving something I had sworn would remain buried. I was certain that he felt this too, for the irony in the air between us was almost palpable. I was watching a part of our past replay itself, only this time, I was in the noose.

"Morgan," came his voice as smooth as ever, "You're not a killer. Put down the gun."

"Why her!?" Morgan's tone had altered. What was threatening was now desperation. "You could have had everything I offered you and still you pine away after _her_!" Her screeching was dragged along by uncontrolled sobs. She was at the point of hysterics and my future looked shorter by the second.

Erik did not know how to react; at least he hadn't expected this type of negotiation. I could see in the twitching of his lips, he was weighing the odds of this familiar triangle.

"Miss Lilith," he began formally, "you are an exquisite young woman with more strength and charisma in your fingernail then most have in their entire being. But don't fool yourself for one moment that you could ever show affection to _this_."

Then, for the second time that evening, he did something I'd never seen him voluntarily do before. Looking the woman straight in the eyes, he deliberately lifted the mask from his face.

She gaped in terror. Her color drained and the arm holding the gun dropped by her side shaking. An empty look came over her then as she raised her arm once more, and I cringed against my fate.

The shot fired and a splash jolted me back. I looked frantically to where Morgan had been standing and saw only Erik. He was balanced on the bow, his hand outstretched to no one.

After a moment he sat back. His trembling fists clenched around the oars and he stroked powerfully away from the vessel and the layer of crimson churning in the waves.


End file.
